A Lemony Fanfic
by spoopythekiller
Summary: Well well well, what happens if we mix America, England, and some dirt? Read the fic to find out! (One-shot)


WARNING: BEWARE OF LEMONS AND OTHER DIRTY THINGS IN THIS STORY.

I'M WARNING YOU NOW.

America moaned loudly. It was almost too much for him to bear. "England!" he murmured softly. "Oh! England! Please!" Tears began streaming from his eyes, and he blushed. This was not supposed to happen in a situation like this. Especially when it was with someone like England.

"I'm sorry, America," England muttered. "But hamburgers are bad for your health. It's always been that way, and it will stay that way." England shook off the clinging American and continued on his way. "Now, I bid you, good day."

America frowned as England shut the door closed with a bang. He was all alone, and nobody was around. "Ah, well," he said to himself in his normal tone. "Who needs the jerky limey when you have!" He pulled out one of his favorite video games. "Call of Duty Ghosts!" He inserted the disc into the player, and waited for the game to start up. "Where you can three-sixty noscope a whole town of fuckas while jumping off a six-story or whatever building and still land safely on your feet!" He grinned with satisfaction as the opening sequence of the game began. "Ah, I love April Fool's!"

"Ahem, excuse me, mister?" asked a quiet voice.

America jumped up. This voice was sort of familiar to him, but he couldn't picture it with no accent. "Aha... hello?" he asked, staring at the stranger.

A man in a suit and sunglasses came into the room, sitting on the space next to him on the couch. "Sir—."

"Oh! Oh my god!" yelled America. He grabbed his remote control, and threw it at the man. He dodged it, and the remote lay in pieces on the floor. "My remote..." murmured America. He threw his video game console at the man, and he once again dodged it. America sighed. "Fine," he whispered. "What is it you want?"

"Sir, I was just wondering if you could do a little something for me."

America thought. Well, his video game was now inaccessible. "Whatever," he replied. "What is it?"

"I want you to join a battle that's been going on recently. You know, with the lemons, and there is literally no one else we can find. Now, if you could suck your ruddy ass up and go join us, that would be nice. We do need... a so-called 'hero' in the ranks, if you believe you are one." The man straightened his hoodie, and nodded. "I will see you there."

"Ugh... fine," sighed America as he headed over to his kitchen.

A few minutes later, America stepped out of his car. He got out his sack of lemons, and he slammed the car door shut. America ran onto the field where this "battle" was supposed to begin, and he looked around. It was a field, with a giant stone podium in the middle, and lines down either side. There were many people he knew. Some were his friends, and some were just jackasses. He nodded at everyone, trying to get situated where he was. "Time to be the fucking hero," he smirked.

"Take your positions!" the shady figure yelled. The people all stepped back onto the lines, and America ran down to the far one. He was on an end, next to Switzerland...? He wasn't sure.

"Now, don't fuck this up," spat Switzerland, or whoever that was.

"Since when have I fucked things up?" asked America.

The dark figure blew their whistle, and everyone ran. America stumbled behind, watching his team run to the front. Apparently, they were throwing lemons at each other, "So _that's_ what I have to do." America dashed to the front, pummeling everyone on his team and the other with lemons. A few were knocked into the ground.

"Ha ha ha!" he laughed, as some of them got up. "Screw you, suckas!"

He noticed one of them get up, one of the taller guys. It was Russia, who was that one scary douche that no one cared about, until you made him mad. "A ha ha... Russia?" he asked.

"Da?" Russia answered, rubbing his head, and getting out two lemons, one in each hand. "Is this what you want, America?"

"No... No it isn't..." America responded, and started to back away slowly as the others resumed their fighting.

Russia threw both of his lemons into the ensuing chaos, and dashed after America. America ran as fast as he could, but he could not outspeed the angered Russian. He was quickly knocked to his feet, mouth full of dirt.

"Mmphlph!" He sputtered, with a mouthful of dirt. He spat it out. "What was that for?"

"This," smiled Russia as he shoved a lemon into his face.

"Gah!" yowled America. "I thought it was more like... This!" He shoved two lemons into Russia's face, and the two quarreled around on the floor, smacking each other with lemons and patches of dirt. America, on the ground, squinted up through broken glasses to see the podium, the one podium in the field he could climb up. He shoved Russia off, and ran towards it, looking for a door to try. When he found none, Russia had caught up with him. He chased him around, like no other would, until they both were panting, sweaty messes.

America glanced at Russia, who was bent over. He climbed on his back, and grappled for the nearest handhold he could. Russia, however, stood up and frowned. America fell down, back on the ground. "America?" asked Russia. "Did you not find a handhold?" Russia nodded. "Nice job."

Russia gazed up at the top of the podium. "Why is there no one on tower anymore?" he asked.

America saw what Russia was looking at. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"How could anyone ever think what you're thinking?"

"Good... point."

"Hello? Everyone?" asked the hooded figure, raising their hands to the people fighting. "Can you hear me?"

"I can!" screamed America, rushing over to inspect the man. "I was just about murdered by that guy," He pointed at Russia, who had turned his back towards them and gotten back into battle. "It was totally sick, but also scary." He threw a lemon at Russia, but seemed to miss.

The hooded figure removed their hood and shades, to reveal a certain England. "See what I mean?" he asked. "Now, pardon me as I stop this nonsense. I only made it so that you could get your ass off those video games, anyways."

"England... No..." America sputtered. "Please. This is dangerous." He tugged on the hem of England's robe, and frowned.

"Well, let's see," paused England. "On one condition." He nodded his head up.

"Tell me!" exclaimed America. "Tell me, I'll do anything..." He dropped to his knees.

"Anything, let's see..." grinned England. "How about you shush them for me?"

America looked at England with sparkling eyes. "But, England?"

"Now!"

America sighed, and walked onto the battlefield. He threw a lemon at the stone podium in a fit of rage. The podium didn't even budge. "Uh..." he started out. "Hello?"

Everyone kept throwing lemons at each other.

"Hello?" America asked again, this time a bit louder. The lemon fighting continued.

"I said, hello?!" America, yelling this time, asked. Not a soul was listening to him. "Thanks, England," he muttered.

America dashed out onto the field, throwing dirt everywhere. "Silence! Okay? Pretend like I'm Germany for once!" He threw patches of grass at the people instead, and he kicked at their shins. He threw lemons at them, but still nobody would pay attention to him. "I hope you step on a Lego!"

"A-A Lego?!" asked a voice in the crowd. "Stop! He threatened Legos for us! You know, to step on!"

Suddenly, the whole crowd went silent. "You threatened it for a reason now, haven't you?" continued the voice, with a surprisingly friendly tone to it. "Come on, boy! Spit it out!"

"Ahah... I have a message from the old man, yeah bros, the old man in the cloak," he started. "He says to shut up and stop fighting, it was only so," at this point, America stuck up fingers for quotes, "I could 'get off my ass' and 'stop eating,' he said."

"Why would anyone believe anything like that?" asked Germany, this one he did recognize.

At this point, America dashed off the field. He grabbed England by the arm, and pulled him back onto the field. "Does this look like the same man?" He pulled up the hood, to reveal the same spooky man that was at the top.

A murmur went through the crowd. Russia shook his head, and marched off of the land. "Well, now that we know it is England, should we not go?" he asked.

"No, no we shouldn't go," replied an albino man sarcastically. "Let's all just stay here and pummel our eyes out! Of course, that might be a bit of fun... kesese," The albino was soon taken care of by Germany.

"Let's go," he shouted.

Everyone began to walk off the field, leaving only England and America behind. "Is it true that I need to stop eating burgers?" asked America.

"Of course it is, wanker," replied England. "Why else would I tell you?"

"Because you're scared I'm going to get as fat as you are?" countered America, raising an eyebrow. "I see."

"What?" asked England, blushing. "That's none of your business!"

America pulled him into a tight hug. "You know it's not," he whispered.

"April Fool's, dumbass," sighed England as he melted into the hug.

"I love you too."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SEE WHAT I MEAN?

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DAY TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS


End file.
